He kept thinking of his hallucination. Of Duffy devouring ice cream and thinking about the cruelty of men. The headaches were diminishing, so he assumed he wouldn't be bothered further by such deliriums, but the conversation stayed with him. "Rebuild?" he wanted to ask Vince. "Why?"

"He kept his doubts to himself, however. Put a brave face on things, he even managed a smile or two. But when Vince headed off to get some beer, he immediately ceased digging and sat with his back to the rubble, staring down the canyon.

Where had Duffy gone this time? he wondered. Back where he'd gone before, up onto Mullholland?

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he got up and started to walk. The thought of searching for Duffy was only a vague notion in the back of his head, but the further he got from his house, the more focused that ambition came. If he could just find his dog, it would be a sign that that life was not beyond reclamation. he would rebuild it with stronger foundations.

There were scenes of devastation everywhere--houses he had yearned to own obliterated, swimming pools upended, cars crushed-- but once he got onto the ridge the air was clear and finer than he remembered it.

He walked for maybe a quarter-mile, until he reached a spot where the bushes at the side of the road had been trampled. Curious, he turned off the asphalt and onto the dirt, following the muddied ground towards a spot concealed from human eyes by a wall of trees.

Even before he reached the grove itself, an absurd suspicion began to make the hairs on his neck prickle. The ground had not been churned up by human feet. Animals had been here, in considerable numbers. Nor had they come from a single direction. Paths had been beaten to this place from every conceivable compass point.

He wanted to turn and run, but curiosity overruled his fear. With his heart thumping in his temples, he slipped between the trees.